Revelations
by Felicia
Summary: As the Chosen One is called forth, Marguerite must decide between what could be and what is. FINALLY COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Revelations  
By Felicia Ferguson   
  
Rating: PG   
  
Disclaimer: Still not mine.   
  
Summary: As the Chosen One is called forth, Marguerite must decide between what could be and what is.   
  
Spoilers: Out of Time, True Spirit and a couple of others  
  
Author's Note: This was conceived before The Secret aired, so any references that have since been dissolved by that episode are purely in line with what I knew to be true at the time.  
  
  
1/?   
  
The night lay still, shrouded in the ever-encroaching mists that formed off the rising tide of the Inland Sea and floated toward the tree house, normally never reaching the leafy trees which housed it. Tonight, however, was different. A curious coolness had engulfed the plateau over the last few days, and while Veronica had never witnessed a true changing of the seasons during her lifetime, it led Challenger to believe that snow was not too far behind.   
  
The explorers themselves had all turned in for the night so none was witness to the eerie phenomenon. None save one heiress who had fallen asleep in an armchair while reading.   
  
"Marguerite..." a hushed tone whispered, the syllables elongating in the mist as if traveling a far distance.   
  
The heiress did not stir, though the book in her lap slipped to the floor, the soft thud equally unable to draw her attention. The cool mist wafted through the slats in the tree house creeping their way toward the sleeping woman. "Marguerite..." the voiced called again.   
  
This time it was rewarded by a shift in position and a mumbled, "Not now, Roxton, I'm sleeping."   
  
The mist slipped over her body and hovered. "Marguerite, we need your help."   
  
Marguerite raised a hand as if the mist were an irritating bug bent on waking her from her dreams. It parted for a moment, only to coalesce into a figure. It seated itself on the arm of the chair and brushed away the tendrils of hair which had fallen against her cheek.   
  
The heiress rubbed her eyes slowly, unwilling to awake fully, but realizing that some persistent thing continued to prod her. Opening her eyes, she prepared to give that person bloody hell, but was stopped before words could even form and jerked to an upright position. "Wha-what?" she began, rubbing her eyes again in the attempt to banish the misty figure from her sight. Surely it was just a dream.   
  
The figure sat back, almost as if it were waiting for her to accept its reality. Marguerite pinched herself once then again harder and still the figure remained. "Okay, so I'm not dreaming," she murmured to herself. Surprisingly, it didn't occur to her to call the others who were at most a few feet away.   
  
Instead she reached toward the figure, but before her hand reached the cloud, a voice whispered through the air. "Chosen One, your time is now. You must help us."  
  
"How do I do that?" she asked, her hand retreating back to the arm of the chair.   
  
"We will lead you when the time is right, but for now, trust yourself. You will know."   
  
Without another word or admonition, the fog dissipated leaving only the echo of silence in its wake. Marguerite, bewildered, and yet, unafraid, watched as it disappeared, a sense of purpose settling over her. The time was now.  
  
  
...to be continued... 


	2. Chapter 2

2/?   
  
Dawn broke over the plateau hours later and Marguerite, uncharacteristically, was there to greet it. Though she normally kept to London society's hours and woke around ten o'clock while the others rose at dawn to begin the day, by the time the first person awoke Marguerite was already on her second cup of coffee.   
  
"Marguerite? Well, I must say this is a surprise," commented Roxton as he walked through the living area toward the kitchen. "Couldn't sleep?"   
  
The heiress offered him a wry smile before handing him a cup filled with double-brewed tea. "Actually, I fell asleep reading last night." Uncertain as to whether she should share her encounter with the mist person, Marguerite paused.   
  
Roxton sensed her hesitation and looked up from his search for breakfast. His eyes narrowed as he studied the woman before him. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked after a moment.   
  
Suddenly defensive, Marguerite gestured widely. "Nothing! John, you really are quite paranoid."   
  
"I wouldn't call it paranoid, more like expectant." He rounded the bar to stand in front of her and raised a hand to grip her chin. "I know you. And as much as you would like to deny it, I know when you're holding out on me."   
  
Eyes flashing with indignation, Marguerite lifted her chin from his grasp and walked to the table. Roxton merely stared at her with quiet resolve. The tension between them mounted to stifling proportions before Marguerite sat aside her cup. "Alright, alright," she griped, a heated glare underscoring her irritation. At length, she recounted what had happened.   
  
Roxton stood, silently absorbing the tale, then arms crossed, he asked, "What were you reading last night?" He glanced over at the book which now rested in the chair. 'The Strange Tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,' hmm?"   
  
"I'm telling you, Roxton, I wasn't dreaming. The mist came into the tree house, became some...*thing*...told me it needed my help and then disappeared."   
  
"Oh, I believe you, my dear," he offered with a reassuring smile as he moved toward her, "it's just that the imagination has a great way of playing tricks on you."   
  
"It called me 'Chosen One.' I've only been called that by one other person."   
  
"Well, and then there was that gypsy who remarked on your inestimable talents."   
  
Marguerite shot him a dark look. "It's not funny, John."   
  
Roxton turned and rested his hands on her shoulders squeezing slightly. "I know that. I just find it hard to believe." He paused and glanced around the tree house. "So where do we begin? Do we ask the others to help?"   
  
Marguerite smiled up at him in thanks then followed his eyes about the room. "I have no idea. It only said that I would know."   
  
"That leaves a lot open for discussion."   
  
Exasperated, she plopped down into a chair at the kitchen table and dropped her head into her hands. "Tell me something I don't know."   
  
"I love you."   
  
The heiress, stunned by the quiet admission, jerked up and fixed a bewildered look on the hunter. "Wha-what did you say?"   
  
Roxton shrugged with feigned nonchalance then returned, "You asked me to tell you something you didn't know, so I did."   
  
And Marguerite experienced a sensation unlike any she had before. She was speechless.   
  
Roxton's grin widened, if possible, as he walked toward her. She searched his eyes, wariness lurking in her own, trying to determine if he was merely playing a horrible joke on her. But the certainty and amusement that gleamed back at her spoke the truth. Still grinning, John lowered his head and brushed a bone-meltingly sweet kiss across her lips, the honesty in his gaze seconded by the simple action.   
  
He drew away to peer into her eyes, then, satisfied by the soft confusion he found, he kissed the tip of her nose and walked back to the table. "Good morning, Challenger!" he greeted as the scientist entered.   
  
"Morning, Roxton, Marguerite," he returned grabbing a couple of apples and settling down at the table. When the woman didn't answer, he shot a questioning gaze to her. Her features remained in the shocked form that Roxton's words had settled them in, but slowly, as the soft statement filtered through her, the corners of her lips began to lift. The hunter savored each moment, watching her blatantly, waiting for her to accept the truth.   
  
Challenger glanced between the pair and, finally realizing that a momentous event had apparently occurred, he quit the room, hopeful of giving the others fair warning.   
  
Roxton watched with decided amusement as the professor left, mumbling something about an experiment he had forgotten, then, having jotted a quick note to the others, returned his attentions to the woman who remained. "Now, my dear, what say we take a walk while we wait for you to realize what you are supposed to know to help this mist person?"   
  
Marguerite nodded with dumb acceptance and rose to grab her hat and pistol. Her mind, having accepted the words, now began the inevitable process of manufacturing all of the reasons why he shouldn't have admitted what he felt. She walked toward the elevator and turned just in time to catch the boyish grin that still reigned on her love's face. Deciding to simply enjoy the moment for once, she slammed the logical thoughts back behind a mental door labeled, "to be studied later."   
  
Marguerite flashed him a flirtatious smile and stepped into the elevator. Determined to have the last word and regroup from her obvious surprise, she remarked, "Oh, John? Everyone already knew that."   
  
"Everyone but you it would appear," he murmured to himself with a pleased grin, allowing her to have the final word. He buckled his own gun belt around his waist and grabbed a rifle for good measure then joined her, now ready to face whatever developments this newest mystery would throw at them.  
  
...to be continued... 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I'm back! Thanks everyone for your support and patience. Hope this lives up to expectation. I know its short, but more is coming soon!  
  
3/?  
  
"You know, Marguerite, I've been thinking about this," Roxton began as he walked behind her on the trail. Since this was her adventure, he had suggested she take point, and for once, to his surprise, she didn't prevaricate. "If you're supposed to know what to do, do you even have any experience with this sort of situation?"  
  
"You mean barring my illustrious career as a medium?" Marguerite's wry tone drifted off into the jungle around them.  
  
"Something like that," Roxton answered with a quick smile. When she turned back to see his reaction, she met his eyes, a curious gleam flashing from their depths. "How did you do it anyway?"  
  
She paused, raising her eyebrows at his question. "Conjure the dead?" At his nod, she shrugged. "I told you, I just listened to the people and then relayed pretty much what they wanted to hear."  
  
Roxton shot her a skeptical glance then turned his eyes to the jungle to monitor the local dinosaur population. Returning his gaze to her, he asked, "If that's the case, how did you pass muster with Harry Houdini?"  
  
"Well, I, for one, didn't use those infamous bumps and chains to herald the arrival of the dearly departed," she remarked with arched smugness, her superior tone intimating her views of other so-called mediums.  
  
"And another?"  
  
Marguerite was silent for a moment, mulling over her experiences. "I didn't hear voices, if that's what you're getting at. I just sort of...I don't know..." she retorted her arm gesturing helplessly, "opened my mind to the possibilities. I let the customer tell me about the person, what he or she did that was special to him and then extrapolated from there."  
  
"You opened your mind, eh?"  
  
Marguerite glanced sharply at him, and seeing he was serious, stalled the heated retort on the tip of her tongue. She turned back to the trail and vaguely gazed out to the horizon. "Hmmm...I would close my eyes, focus my attention on the person's words and emotions and then clear my head of everything else."   
  
"Have you tried that since your chat with the mist person this morning?"  
  
Frowning, she answered, "I hadn't really considered it."   
  
Roxton joined her at the edge of the trail and halted behind her; placing his hands on her shoulders, he murmured, "Why not give it a go? If it doesn't work, we're no worse off."  
  
Marguerite smiled faintly and shrugged beneath his warm grasp. Since there was no obvious focal point, she took in a deep, cleansing breath, closed her eyes and listened for her heartbeat. The muted thumps slowly rose from faint echoes until they drowned out the jungle noises around her. Savoring the elemental reverberations for a moment, she opened her mind further and reached for the sound of Roxton's own heartbeat.   
  
She was surprised to find it took less time than she had expected. Whether that was due more to their physical closeness than their emotional attachment, she didn't bother to analyze. Instead she smiled and marveled as the two sounds mingled and then began to beat in time together.   
  
Roxton, realizing that she was completely focused, remained silent. His hands loosened their grips on her shoulders and drifted down to form a gentle cage around her. He closed his eyes, relishing in the wealth of feeling that existed between them, that wove itself in and around them. The jungle stilled. Time existed only as breath followed breath. Soul speaking to soul, Roxton and Marguerite became one, inextricably bound by love, devotion and a shared spirit.   
  
And in that moment, in the silence of heartbeats, she realized several truths, the least of which being the next road to take, the greatest that she was at long last whole, mentally, spiritually, emotionally whole. The simple act of communion with the man she loved awakened her fully to truths she had accepted only on the most mundane of levels.   
  
Her future was with him. No matter how hard she fought it, how many excuses she hid behind, the reality was indelible, and, she recognized, wholly welcome. She leaned back against him, savoring the twin beats, and allowed the knowledge to wash over her.  
  
At length, a gentle fall of rain slipped between the leaves dampening their hair and clothes, breaking the spell and returning them to the present. Roxton reluctantly pulled away pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Marguerite, love, we need to find shelter before we get soaked."  
  
She nodded and clasped one of his hands in hers offering him a knowing smile. "I know just the place."  
  
***  
  
...to be continued... 


	4. Chapter 4

4/?  
  
She had led them to a nearby cave, thankfully bereft of anything   
prehistoric, and they settled in to watch the rain fall. It drizzled for hours,   
chilling the air warmed by the midday sun and stopping only when night   
began to break over the horizon. Miraculously, the clouds parted to   
reveal a magnificent starry sky. Marguerite stood in the cave's   
entrance, arms crossed to ward off the increasingly cool evening air, and   
gazed up.   
  
Sensing her suddenly pensive mood, Roxton fed the flames, then rose to   
join her. She smiled softly as his hands tangled with hers and brought   
them to rest at her waist. "Did I ever tell you," he murmured at   
length, tucking his chin into the hollow between her neck and shoulders,   
"that I once met a faery?"  
  
Curious, but unwilling to break the serenity of the moment, Marguerite   
shook her head then waited for him to continue. "My family owns an   
estate in Avebury, as I've said previously." He felt her nod, smiling at   
the feel of her hair as it brushed his cheek. "Well, there is a stream   
that runs through the south acreage. William and I would play there in   
the summertime, reenacting Waterloo and other such nonsense."  
  
Marguerite smiled, well-able to picture the scene complete with a brown   
headed boy, hair tousled with a combination of sweat and water.   
Stifling a chuckle as she envisioned him taking an accidental dunk, she   
snuggled back against him offering silent encouragement to finish the tale.   
  
"One day, I was about nine or ten at the time, I rode out there alone.   
William was off with Father on estate business." His voice deepened, a   
dreamy tone filtering through the words. "It was dusk and I was   
avoiding Mama for some reason. I tethered my horse behind a grove of trees   
then walked toward the stream. There was a rocky outcropping that   
helped keep the flood waters down in the spring. I sat there for the   
longest time, staring at the water, the trees, just soaking up the day as it   
disappeared.  
  
"Then I saw her...no bigger than my hand, she fluttered through the   
trees and down to the water. It was the strangest thing. It was as if   
she was thirsty and merely wanted to drink from the stream. I didn't   
know they did such a thing. She was absolutely beautiful. There was a   
light that seemed to...she just seemed to glow.   
  
"At one point, I think I must have moved because she jerked away from   
the stream and then hovered behind a clump of bushes on the other side.   
I remember whispering that she shouldn't be afraid, that I wouldn't   
hurt her. I don't know if she understood me, but she seemed to relax and   
even floated toward me. I reached out to touch her and just as my   
fingers brushed her wings, she flew away."  
  
"Did you ever see her again?" She felt him shake his head and her lips   
lifted in a sad smile.  
  
"I've never told anyone that before. William would have laughed at me   
for weeks and Father and Mama simply would have taken me to the doctor   
to have my head examined."  
  
Marguerite chuckled wryly and stared out into the trees. At length,   
she murmured, "John, what do you think about this? About this ability I   
have?"  
  
Hearing the fear interlaced with the words, Roxton wrapped his arms   
more tightly around her. "I know it must be frightening, but I tend to   
think of it as a gift. You've been able to offer more insight into this   
place than even Veronica at times. And I think it's safe to say you've   
only just begun to realize how important it is to our survival."  
  
Inordinately pleased and comforted at the same time, Marguerite turned   
in his arms and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. "Good   
night, John."  
  
  
***  
  
Roxton woke unexpectedly, lurching from a prone to a crouched position   
within seconds. He glanced around, caution sharpening his hunter's   
instincts, first to the fire then to Marguerite's make-shift bed. Upon   
finding the latter empty while the former continued to blaze, he rose and   
grabbed his rifle.   
  
The flames flickered against the cave wall, casting odd figures and   
shadows. Careful to mask his movements so as not to alert whatever had   
awoken him, he edged his way to the cave's entrance. Dense fog greeted him   
and, peering through it, he glimpsed a figure in the distance whirling   
in circles, hands raised in the air. An eerie chant, pitched high and   
haunting, pierced the night. Roxton shuddered feeling the hairs on the   
back of his neck rise.  
  
Step by cautious step he made his way toward the figure. He knew who   
it was, but it was the why that concerned him. "Marguerite?" he asked,   
his voice barely more than a whisper.   
  
She didn't answer. In fact, it appeared she hadn't even heard him.   
Slowly, her dervish-like movements slowed until she stilled facing him.   
The chanting ceased as well, but was soon replaced by a hushed   
cacophony of voices whispering in some indistinguishable language. Roxton   
recognized the tones from some of the older tenants on the Avebury estate,   
but not the words themselves.   
  
"What are you doing, my dear?" he murmured. "Mystery on top of   
mystery." Deciding that she was in no immediate danger, he leaned against a   
nearby tree and settled in to wait.  
  
It was dawn before he realized he had fallen asleep.   
  
***  
  
...to be continued... 


	5. Chapter 5

5/?  
  
Marguerite watched the sun break over the horizon for the second   
morning in a row. Instead of the fatigue one would expect from two nights of   
little sleep, she felt oddly refreshed. Perhaps it was her midnight   
interlude with the mist, or perhaps it was due to the man whose head she   
cradled in her lap. Fingers slipping between the wavy curls, a soft,   
contented smile tingeing her lips, Marguerite gazed out to the horizon.   
  
However, unlike many previous times, she didn't see Buckingham Palace   
or Trafalgar Square. She knew they were there, their memories lurking   
in the back of her mind, but for now she was satisfied to do as Roxton   
had as a child. She sat and merely soaked up the morning, storing away   
the sounds, images, and feelings to be relived in her dreams.   
  
Her thoughts drifted aimlessly until they met the door she had so   
decisively shut the day before. Realizing there was nothing left "to be   
studied later," a wave of contentment washed over her, settling her lips   
in a soft smile. There was indeed no need to ponder the why's and   
wherefores of John's admission. She was not even curious enough to wonder   
when she first began to love him. The emotion seemed such an integral   
part of her, she, in truth, couldn't imagine a time when it hadn't   
existed. In reality, it was a whimsical notion, especially in light of her   
past. A past still riddled with secrets and unfulfilled desires.   
  
Gazing down at the man sleeping peacefully, her eyes drifted over the   
harsh planes of his face, envisioning the once world-weary eyes filled   
with joy as they appeared more often of late. She did wonder when all   
her secrets would be forced into full view. Marguerite wasn't so   
fanciful as to dismiss the inevitable. But he loved her. It was a fact she   
knew in her bones.   
  
And because of that love, it was a distinct possibility he wouldn't   
leave her once her past had been fully disclosed. It was an idea she had   
toyed with on multiple occasions only to dismiss without opposition.   
Out of all her past liaisons, not one man had ever accepted her as soon   
as he knew even part of the truth. But now? Marguerite placed a soft   
kiss on John's forehead and looked out to the horizon, ripe with the   
promise of the coming day. Now, she wasn't so certain of the outcome.  
  
At length, Roxton woke and gazed up into peaceful gray eyes. He   
realized with a soft stab of surprise that it was the first time he had seen   
her so content. "Good morning," he greeted, offering her a sleepy smile.  
  
Marguerite returned the response, shifting her fingers to caress his   
cheek. "So, what was that all about last night?" he asked when she made   
no further comment.  
  
Her gaze sharpened for a moment, then eased when she recognized the   
concern in his tone. 'I've got to stop jumping to conclusions with him,'   
she inwardly chastised. Aloud, she said, "Just trying to find out where   
we go from here."  
  
"And did you? Find out, I mean?"  
  
She shrugged. "In a way. They aren't exactly specific when it comes   
to directions."  
  
Reluctant to leave her embrace, but doing so anyway, John rose then   
reached for her hand to help her up. "So, what now?"  
  
"Follow the mist."  
  
"'Follow the --'" Roxton began, incredulity evident in his tone. Then   
she gestured behind him. Turning, he realized that it was a valid   
command. The mist had coalesced to form not a person, but an orb. It   
floated for a moment and then moved away from them, only to pause an   
instant later.   
  
"Well, then I guess we should do as it says."  
  
***  
  
Roxton passed a tin filled with dates and berries to Marguerite who   
traded him the canteen. Having agreed they could eat on the road as it   
were, they had broken camp as soon as the fire was doused and blankets   
were stowed.   
  
"You know, Roxton," Marguerite mumbled around a date, "there is one   
thing about this whole situation that's curious."  
  
The hunter cocked a sardonic eyebrow after taking a swig of water.   
"Only one? Pray, do enlighten me."  
  
The woman tossed him a dark look, but didn't pursue the conversation.   
Carefully, picking around the dried nuts that always ended up stuck in   
her teeth, she chose another plump berry and popped it in her mouth   
after a moment's consideration. "Why is it that you're so interested in   
all this?"  
  
Roxton, startled by her question and the wary confusion that drove it,   
fully considered her words. "Well, I suppose I could say that you are   
a fascinating woman, Miss Krux," he answered carefully.  
  
"Mmm how completely and utterly boring."  
  
"Or that you have a knack for finding adventures, or should I say for   
adventures finding you."  
  
Marguerite rolled her eyes. "Isn't that a bloody fact," she muttered.  
  
John slowed, placing a hand on her arm to halt her determined pace.   
"The truth?" he asked with a slight smile.  
  
"That would be nice," Marguerite murmured, her lips forming an   
answering smile, her gaze encouraging.   
  
Adjusting the rifle over his shoulder, his eyes sobered. "The real   
reason is .I had nothing better to do today," he replied with a cheeky   
grin, then turned to walk further down the path.  
  
Marguerite, uncertain as to whether the statement was a compliment or   
an insult, fumed, "John!" Hurrying to reach his side, she was full   
ready with a vehement retort when she spotted their destination.  
  
"I guess this is the place," Roxton said, raising a hand to pull his   
hat a little further down over his brow.  
  
The dense forest opened up to reveal a huge bay, the blue-green water   
glistening under the bright mid-morning sun. A few feet above the   
waves, the mist hovered expectantly. "What now?" Marguerite murmured.  
  
"I was rather hoping you would have the answer."  
  
Shooting him a blank look, she returned her gaze to the water, hopeful   
of finding a bridge to cross. "Why is it that there is never an   
obvious answer when you need one," she griped, shading her eyes against the   
glare reflected off the bay.  
  
"The answer is obvious, Marguerite, but you must look with eyes other   
than the ones that see," directed a familiar disembodied voice.  
  
Roxton glanced over his shoulder thinking the words had come from   
behind them. When he didn't find the source of the voice, he muttered, "Let   
me guess, this is the mist person."  
  
Marguerite shushed him, eyes flashing a silent warning. "'Eyes other   
than the ones that see,'" she murmured. Uncertain as to the accuracy of   
her guess, she closed her physical eyes and opened her mind once more,   
reaching out for the answer, seeing it take shape in her thoughts.   
  
The mist chuckled with appreciation. "Very good! Very good, indeed.   
You are what was foretold. Or at least you have the promise, Chosen   
One."  
  
A vision began to form then expand as she mentally struggled to hold   
it. "Yes, you see what is possible, do you not?" the mist asked   
rhetorically. "In order to reach the future that is ready for you, you must   
leave all that has led you to this point and embrace the unknown; accept   
your destiny without reserve and take the final step toward it. It is   
a path that the Chosen One must take alone."  
  
John bridled at the omniscient tone and moved to stand between his love   
and what he deemed an uncertain hostility. Just as he took a step   
forward, the voice continued, "Only she can make the decision as to whether   
or not to accept her destiny. All that she has ever done has led to   
this point. She is ready to take the final step. But she alone can   
decide if it is what she desires."  
  
Marguerite opened her eyes and watched as the mist condensed into human   
form then slowly walked toward her. Roxton, transfixed by the sight,   
yet, nonetheless aware enough of their surroundings to have already   
found an escape route, eased one of his Webleys from its holster.  
  
The mist person halted in front of Marguerite and raised a "hand" to   
trace the outline of her face. "If you choose to remain here and not take   
the next step of your journey, your gifts will become dormant. But if   
you choose to follow your destiny, what you and the others recognize as   
gifts will be merely the basis for the knowledge and abilities that   
will come." The mist evaporated suddenly. Its last words echoed through   
the morning air. "The choice is ultimately yours, Chosen One. Choose   
well."  
  
"Marguerite?" Roxton asked, tugging on her arm to wake her from the   
trance. "Marguerite, I think we should go."  
  
She stared at him blankly, her incomprehension evident on her features.   
"Why? John, this is it. What I've been waiting for my whole life.   
I've known that I was meant for something more. Granted I always   
considered it to be wealth and power, but...last night... now that I've seen   
what could be..."  
  
She brushed her knuckles against the back of his hand. A calm peace   
flowed through her. She took in a deep breath and silently willed him to   
understand. "John, if I don't do this. If I don't take this step and   
my gifts disappear, I won't be the same person. I won't be the Marguerite Krux you fell in love with."  
  
"Maybe," he answered, his stubborn resolve rearing its head. "But if   
you do accept this and take this next step, whatever it brings, then who   
will you become?"  
  
"Something more," she whispered and squeezed his hand in reassurance.  
  
Roxton read the calm certainty in her blue-gray eyes and felt a sudden   
shaft of pain lance through him. She was going to do it. She was   
leaving him, abandoning their future for her status as the Chosen One.   
"Marguerite, what about your life here? What about us?"  
  
"This is so much bigger than you and me. Can't you see that? I do   
love you, John, but I need to do this." She paused and cupped his face,   
her eyes lovingly memorizing every detail. "If I don't take this final   
step, I'll always wonder."  
  
Uncertain what he could do or say to change her mind, John was silent.   
"Good-bye, my love," she whispered then turned and stepped into the   
pool. An instant later she was gone. The waters stilled and Roxton was   
alone.  
  
  
...to be continued...? 


	6. Chapter 6

6/?  
  
"If you take her, you get me as well, Chosen One or not!" Roxton yelled as he dove into the pool after Marguerite. Finding her in the water, he locked his arms around her. A second later they dropped through a liquid wall. "I told you once before I'd never let you go. I haven't broken a promise to you yet, and I don't intend to start now," he swore pulling her into a fierce embrace.  
  
Marguerite brought her hands around his neck, thankful he had followed, but stopped short when she felt his jacket. His dry jacket. Drawing back, she realized they were both fully clothed and completely dry. "I'm not sure I understand what's going on," she murmured.  
  
Roxton shrugged and tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. "It wouldn't be a first for this trip."  
  
Rolling her eyes, she turned and paused. "How in the world did that get here?" 'That' was an immense throne room, its walls and floor seemingly cut out of the rock surrounding them, obviously underneath the bay. At first glance and barring the impossibility of its existence, it was reminiscent of typical throne rooms. Upon further inspection, there was something noticeably different about the courtiers.   
  
Not only did they vary in size from that of a baby's fist to normal human standards, two gossamer wings sprouted between the shoulder blades of each. Recognizing them instantly, Marguerite cast a side-long glance to John and murmured, "See anyone you know?" Roxton turned his furrowed gaze to her then back to the others as comprehension dawned.  
  
In the center of the room, flanked by several pillows, a diminutive being sat on an ornate wooden throne. Though she appeared fully grown she was actually no taller than a child. Tiny piquant features were all that was visible from beneath the green cloak draped around her. "Well met, Morrigan -- or should I call you Marguerite now?" Her surprisingly warm contralto greeted them, impressed with their entrance into her realm.   
  
"Who the hell are you?" Roxton asked as he released the heiress but maintained a close position beside her.   
  
The woman smiled knowingly. "Ah, yes, the consort. As it was explained before you unceremoniously joined her, this journey is taken alone." She paused and flashed him a considering gaze. Reading the resolve in his stance and the dedication in his eyes, she added, "But I can see where you might have your uses. You are, after all, devoted to her and she is now young in our ways. You might prove useful. Yes, you may remain."  
  
"It's not your bloody decision whether I stay or not," Roxton warned, anger darkening his tone.  
  
Marguerite laid a cautioning hand on his arm. "John," she murmured with a silent shake of her head. To the other woman, she replied, "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met."  
  
The woman laughed gaily, the rich sound tripping through the air. "No, I don't suppose you would remember me. It has been centuries after all. I am known by many names, Chosen One, but I think I am most fond of Mab, Queen of the Faeries. That Shakespeare man grossly underestimated me, but I found the story highly entertaining."  
  
Reeling at the impossibility of the other woman's existence, Marguerite shook her head. "You called me Morrigan."  
  
The faery queen nodded regally. "That is who you are. The reincarnated soul of   
Morrigan. You bear the mark of her people: the sun, the moon, the serpent. And, though you won't remember it, have already rescued them from the frightful existence of living in limbo, returning them to a time when their beliefs and practices were appreciated instead of ridiculed."  
  
Roxton and Marguerite shared a confused glance, but neither spoke as Mab continued, "That, however, was just the first step in your journey. The time has come for your full abilities to be revealed. In truth, this could possibly be the most important thing you ever do."   
  
The queen rose from her throne shrugging aside the heavy cloak and floated toward the couple, her purple robes flowing behind her, the gossamer thin wings easily supporting her slight weight. "The fate of the Plateau rests on your shoulders, my dear."  
  
Finding her voice, Marguerite asked, "The Plateau? What's going to happen?"  
  
Mab fluttered away and gestured expansively. "The Plateau is not exactly what any of your group believes, although your man, Challenger, has come the closest to guessing its true nature. What you see as a jungle filled with dinosaurs and tribesmen, is actually a compilation of shifting planes. Oh, the inhabitants are real enough, at least once they were trapped."  
  
"What do you mean, 'once they were trapped?'" Roxton asked wary concern flashing   
through his eyes. "Are you saying that Marguerite and I and the others aren't real anymore? That somehow we've vanished forever from the outside world?"  
  
Mab, pleased by the hunter's insight, clapped her hands. "You will do well, Lord Roxton. My compliments, Morrigan, on your choice of consorts. He is much more perceptive than I first thought."  
  
"So what does that mean? Are we dead?"  
  
"Far from it, my dear. You simply exist in another reality. If you pass through the windows again, you will return to your own time. But enough of floating realities; such topics always give me a headache. The present is the issue at hand."   
  
Mindful of the limited scope of the human mind, she ignored their confusion and instead focused on what they would comprehend. "The Plateau was a by-product of a faery war between myself, you, or rather Morrigan, and the One Who Has No Name, an evil chieftan who threatened the world's balance. He meant for this Plateau to be the center of his powers, a lodestone, if you will, from which to bring about his total domination.   
  
"You, Morrigan, learned of his plan before it could be completed, but the landmass had already been created and the inhabitants, the tribes and animals from the surrounding areas, things he planned to hypnotize for use in the war, were trapped. His magic was so strong that it required Morrigan and me to join our powers to defeat him. He was exiled to another plane, his body strewn across it.   
  
"The only thing that remains of him is the force that constantly twists the planel realities. Since the Plateau was created by dark magic, Morrigan and I couldn't return it to its former state, nor did we wish to kill all the life that had grown. We decided to protect it; never did we foresee that our efforts might wane."  
  
"Just what type of protection did you provide?"  
  
"We created the storms surrounding the plateau. The massive rock facing that formed when the Plateau was wrenched from the earth also helps to maintain its anonymity."  
  
Roxton shook his head, unable to account for what he knew to be true. "Then how did we and countless others end up here?"  
  
"That's precisely the problem," Mab replied, brow furrowing in consternation. "You shouldn't have. The Plateau has existed for millennia, but the powers that formed it are weakening. Windows, passageways through the rocks and the updrafts, have opened through which it is possible to pass, inviting all sorts of trouble in various forms. As the plane disintegrates, the storms that once hid the Plateau from the outside world will soon destroy it."  
  
"Since you helped to create it, why can't you fix it?"  
  
"It's not that simple. The plane was created by the powers of two good faeries working against one evil faery; it cannot be saved by one alone. The odds of damaging it further are almost insurmountable. The One Who Has No Name was banished soon after he was defeated and recalling him is not a certain possibility. Nor would we wish to do so if we could. I'm hopeful that two will have the power that one does not and will be able to halt the destruction that is imminent."  
  
"What exactly is imminent?" Roxton, highly skeptical of the queen's words, indeed of the whole scenario, pierced the faery with a direct gaze. "Based upon what you have shown us, why should we help you? The more windows in that storm and the rocks, the better our chances of returning home."  
  
"While that is a likely possibility, would you risk the fate of the Plateau on it? Look there," she indicated, her tiny hand waving toward the wall of water, "and you will see the consequences of ignoring my request."  
  
An image rapidly formed over the liquid barrier. "It's the Plateau," Marguerite   
murmured.  
  
"Yes, there's the Summerlee River, and Krux Mountain..."  
  
Marguerite, her eyes catching something in the distance, its lines blurred by the banked waves, raised her hand and pointed. "What's that? Do you see it?"  
  
Roxton nodded as he glanced where she directed. "They're storm clouds. Very similar to those updrafts surrounding the Plateau. But they've never been this close before."  
  
They watched silently as the clouds gathered strength, advancing with more furor. As they engulfed the jungle, trees were torn from the ground by their roots; dinosaurs were sucked into the air only to be ripped apart by the swirling winds. The tree house, splintered into pieces, lay shattered on the ground beneath the huge trees which once shaded and protected it.   
  
Behind the devastating storms, blew a frigid chill, drenching the land in sleet and snow, freezing anything that remained alive. Marguerite and Roxton watched as it approached the Zanga village, freezing the scantily clad warriors where they stood. Jarl and Assai, who only a moment previous, were kissing good-bye, now stood frozen, forever locked in a final embrace.  
  
"This is what is to occur. This is the future you must stop, Marguerite. If you do not, the lives here will be nothing more than remnants of a lost civilization."  
  
"I'm ready."  
  
Mab laughed, gentle amusement filling her clear grey eyes. "We shall soon see if that is so."  
  
  
...to be continued...  
  
  
Author's Note: Although "Out of Time" stated that Morrigan was a priestess, according to Celtic mythology, she was actually one of three faery goddesses that formed "The Morrigan." Morrigan herself took the form of a young lady, a crone, but most often that of a raven and was considered to be the goddess of war. 


	7. Chapter 7

7/?  
  
  
The faery queen fluttered back to the throne and resettled herself within the depths of the massive cloaks and pillows. Crooking a finger toward a blonde pixie, who quickly flew to her side, Mab stated, "We must begin your training immediately, my dear, if we are to combat this with all speed."  
  
The pixie, eager to do her mistress' bidding, darted around the room gathering papers and books. Each item floated in the air behind her until she directed them toward a table nearby. Without a second glance, she returned to Mab and, in a tinkling, high-pitched voice, said, "Everything is in order, my queen."  
  
Mab was about to speak when Roxton raised a questioning hand. "Um, if you don't mind, I'd like a moment with Marguerite before the school bell is rung."  
  
The Faery Queen leaned forward, eager to hear his view of the situation, and answered, "But of course."  
  
"Privately," Roxton replied, determination hardening the soft word.  
  
The faery, startled by his defiance, fluttered then said, "Oh, well, certainly. If you would like, there is a room just to your left. Intensely private."  
  
John took Marguerite's hand and led her down the corridor into what was obviously the indicated room. Although there was no door, a heavy drape covered the entryway. Roxton tugged it into place and gave a cursory glance to their surroundings before speaking. "Marguerite, what in all hell is going on? Do you mean to tell me that you're some kind of reincarnated faery? That you have the power to change the Plateau?"  
  
Marguerite crossed her arms ready for a battle. "If you would let me get a word in edgewise, Roxton," she murmured with asperity. "Look, John," she sighed, glancing over her shoulder as if she could see beyond the drape and into the throne room, "I'm not sure I understand everything she said, but what I do know is that, now, more than ever, what I said before is true. I'm meant to do something. There's no other explanation for this gift that I have. Besides, what if she's right and the Plateau is in danger? Don't you think I owe it to you, Challenger, Veronica and Ned, wherever he is, to do everything I can to   
help?"  
  
John shook his head at her words, pacing back to the wall only to return a moment later to stand before her. "How do you know you can do this? What if she's wrong? What if you're not the reincarnation of Morrigan?"  
  
"John, she's at least right about the birthmark." She shrugged and gestured helplessly. "I don't know how she could possibly know otherwise. It's not like I parade around wearing Veronica's cast-offs. So, who's to say she's not right about everything else?"  
  
Roxton jerked himself from the mental image of Marguerite in the skin-tight sleeveless top and loin cloth as the seriousness of her tone and words filtered through him. He blinked in surprise. "That doesn't sound like the woman who first came here."  
  
Marguerite smiled ruefully and stepped away. "No, I guess it doesn't. But I would think you'd be more apt to take credit for that change rather than complain about it."  
  
"It's not that I'm complaining," John murmured placing a reassuring hand on her arm. "Far from it. I'm pleased that you're taking an interest in something that could so greatly impact the odds of us getting home and putting the greater good ahead of your own. But..."  
  
Askance, she turned back. "Would you rather I turn my back on my destiny?"  
  
'Yes, if it doesn't include me!' Roxton's heart cried. Unfortunately, he had no logical argument to use and instead shook his head.  
  
Marguerite realized that he, like herself, was reluctant to speak freely and risk the possibility that, whatever his unspoken fear, it would take shape. She clasped his hand in hers; taking an inward breath, she steeled herself and asked, "John, what is it that really concerns you? Are you worried that I'll get these supernatural powers and disappear into thin air never to return?"  
  
Roxton didn't meet her gaze. With a resolve she wasn't certain she possessed, she laid her hand against his cheek and forced him to look at her. "John?" Surely he couldn't have a fear so similar to her own.  
  
The soft pleading in her eyes was his undoing. He nodded once then raised a hand to cover hers.   
  
Tears welled in her eyes at his answer. Marveling at how much alike they were, she murmured, "Can you really think so little of me, of my feelings for you, as to believe that I would truly leave if a better opportunity became available?"  
  
Roxton raised his hand to wipe a tear that had slipped down her cheek. With a regretful sigh, he returned, "Isn't that what you are so certain I would do given the same chance? That as soon as we return to London I'll go back to my life and leave you to face whatever secrets alone?"  
  
Chuckling, she pressed a kiss to his palm. "Some pair we are, huh?" She sniffed once, drawing away, and dabbed at her eyes, until all trace of the emotion was patted away.  
  
The hunter gave her the time to compose herself, secretly needing it as well to bury his own long suppressed fear. Hoping to lighten the mood, he gave her an appraising glance. "So, this birthmark, where exactly is it?"  
  
Marguerite's eyes glinted dangerously. She smiled the saucy grin that he loved and whispered, "Why, Lord Roxton, are you suggesting a personal tour?"  
  
"Mmm..." he replied, letting his allowing gaze to freely roam over her body, hovering for a moment over the places he thought would make excellent canvas for just such artwork.  
  
Marguerite slowly advanced on him, a predatory look snagging him. She stopped inches away and peered up at him. "Well," she began softly, her warm breath whispering over his cheek, "like you said, the imagination is a powerful thing. Why don't you use yours?"  
  
***  
  
"So, where do we begin? 'Hocus pocus?' Or did you have something more high level in mind?" Marguerite asked, a nervous tension filling her. Yes, she had accepted her destiny, but it was one thing to have some inkling as to the outcome and quite another to be completely in the dark.  
  
Mab, sensing the woman's caution, ignored the sharp tone behind her words. She   
dismissed the courtiers, explaining that she would take charge of Marguerite's training. Dutiful, but still curious as to the potential of the newcomer, they quit the room slowly, each taking one last look at Marguerite.  
  
Roxton, for his part, had been directed to a chair in the far corner from which he could watch the training session but would not readily distract either the pupil or the teacher. He kept a careful eye on Marguerite, ready to jump to her aid should the situation warrant it.  
  
"Now, my dear, I understand that you have achieved a certain level of focus. Please do so now."  
  
Marguerite took in a quick breath and once more closed her eyes and opened her mind. Unconsciously, she sought out the familiar and smiled as she felt Roxton's strength surround her. Her brow furrowed as the combination of doubt and pride filtered through her initial feelings. Doubt stemmed from his view of the situation, the pride, however, rested fully in his belief in her. Warmed by the support, she pulled her mind from him and focused on the Plateau.  
  
Realizing the depth of emotion that tied the two together was more than she had first understood, Mab paused with consideration before offering praise for the woman's efforts. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea for the man to remain. However, the alacrity with which Marguerite focused on her true target after having joined with Roxton allayed the Faery Queen's worries. Her charge would not be distracted in the coming moments.  
  
"Good, my dear, good," she murmured, flitting around Marguerite silently supporting her. "Now, remember the storms through which you first passed when you came to the Plateau. Can you see them? Do you feel them buffeting the balloon?"  
  
In her mind, Marguerite was lost in sensation. The wind whipped through her light jacket, stinging her cheeks and watering her eyes with the icy gusts. Once again, she was forced to hang onto the ropes for dear life. To adjust her hat more firmly on her head. Without comment, she nodded.   
  
Mab smiled her approval then quelled an inner shudder. That was the easy part. The next few minutes would be the deciding factor as to whether or not enough of Morrigan remained in Marguerite to halt the disintegration of the protective barriers.   
  
"Now, keeping the Plateau firmly in your vision, reach out to me. Join me."  
  
Marguerite mentally stretched out her hand, uncertain about her tactics, but willing to risk error in the effort to learn. Mab gripped the proffered hand with slight disapproval. "Well, that's not exactly the way I had envisioned, but it will do for now," she murmured.  
  
Unable see the Faery Queen, Marguerite suddenly felt an overwhelming power surge   
through her, shimmering along the edges of her vision. She shivered as the feeling skimmed over her body. Mab, ignoring the tell-tale signs of someone lacking the full control needed for the next steps, urged her on. There was precious little time to waste and it would appear that Marguerite's training would have to occur via trial by fire rather than actual instruction.  
  
"You still see the Plateau, yes?"  
  
The woman nodded, her body shaking with effort, unable to form the words to answer.  
  
Mab straightened her tiny shoulders with resolve. It was time to begin. "Now, think back to every instance where you encountered a possible way off the Plateau, whether it be cave or otherwise." The faery paused, feeling Marguerite's inner vision searching her memory, rifling through countless encounters, good and bad, that had occurred during her three years on the Plateau.  
  
Roxton sat at the ready, though for what he wasn't quite sure. He watched Mab's ethereal movements still as she rested on the edge of Marguerite's desk. Carefully attuned to his love's physical reactions, he inwardly vowed to stop this at the first sign of trouble.  
  
After a moment of careful consideration, Marguerite chose the first occasion, when Assai had been given leave by her father to lead the party through a system of caves. She smiled wryly at the memory of how that exit had so precipitously been barred. 'What would her life be like now had they been able to leave at that time and place?' she inwardly mused.  
  
Her thoughts were cut short by Mab's commanding, "Have you found one?"  
  
Marguerite nodded again jerking her wayward imaginings back to the present.   
  
"I want you to concentrate on the cave in your mind. Think of nothing else, no matter what happens."  
  
The force that had surged into her vision previously was nothing to the sensation that streaked through her an instant later. Marguerite nearly vibrated as Mab's power swelled and overtook the vision, twisting the image of the cave, bending it back on itself. As the image continued to contort in her mind, Marguerite could feel vague tremblings that something was wrong.   
  
Resolutely, she forced herself to ignore the warning and continue to hold onto the vision. Marguerite sensed Mab sinking further into the vision; the rate of the contortions increased until Marguerite was certain it would implode.  
  
Beads of sweat began to dot her forehead as she struggled to maintain the image she had first pictured in the vain effort to force aside what her mind was now envisioning. Mab, sensing the first twinges of success, continued on, oblivious to her charge's difficulties.   
  
At length, Marguerite's grip on her vision slipped and the contortions ruled, rending the cave into pieces. With a soft cry, her focus snapped and Marguerite crumpled from the chair, unconscious.   
  
  
...to be continued...  
  
Hope you are still enjoying this... 


	8. Chapter 8

8/?  
  
"Marguerite!" Roxton cried as he dashed to her side, catching her before she   
unceremoniously landed on the floor. He shot a malevolent glare toward Mab and bit out, "This stops now." Seeing the faery about to protest, he continued, "She's of no worth to you if she burns herself out and I for one and am not going to stand blithely by and watch her do it." Without a backward glance, he scooped Marguerite up into his arms and carried her out of the throne room.  
  
Mab, frustrated by their near success, fluttered imperiously to her throne and called her courtiers. "She can't do it," the queen uttered with certainty. "She doesn't have the knowledge. It appears we were wrong to think that after all these millennia Morrigan's power would not have faded."  
  
The pixie floated to her side and pleaded, "Give her time, Majesty. It is possible those powers that are needed are merely hidden and must only be called forth."  
  
"Time is a luxury we do not possess. Even now the mists are approaching; soon the winds will come and then the destruction will be complete."  
  
***  
  
Roxton eased Marguerite onto the soft couch which stood against the side wall of the room just off the throne room. Brushing her hair back, he kissed her forehead and murmured, "It's alright, love, I'm here. You did fine; Mab shouldn't have pushed you like that regardless of how dire the situation might be."   
  
The hunter shrugged off his khaki jacket and wound one of the sleeves around his hand into a make-shift cloth. Careful not to wake her, if he even could, he dabbed the sweat from her brow, pressed a soft kiss to her lips then shifted beside her and took her hand in his. "You just rest now."  
  
***  
  
Mab sat in her throne glumly watching the vision on the water, unaccustomed to the feeling of failure that hung about her. What she had hoped would halt the storm if not dissolve it entirely had, in actuality, hastened its approach. The gray-black clouds now billowed with ominous intent shadowing the northern regions of the Plateau.  
  
Shifting her gaze from the image, she watched a misty figure float through the throne room to hover expectantly beside her. "I would assume you are here to gloat. You, after all, were the loudest naysayer," she muttered, shooting a decidedly non-regal glare to the spirit.   
  
The mist was silent as it, too, seemed to watch the proceedings with dark interest. After a moment of quiet contemplation, the disembodied voice spoke. "Perhaps you are correct in thinking Morrigan's legacy is not sufficiently strong to counteract the future. But perhaps there is another reason. You first thought that your powers combined would solve the problem, but it would appear there is a definite need for the opposing force of The One Who Has No Name. Something to act as a counterweight."  
  
Mab quelled an internal shiver. Memories millennia old whispered back through her mind recalling the last malevolent glare that the chieftan had bestowed upon her before succumbing to the magic. She had taken all care to guard against any possibility of his return wary of the retribution he would undoubtedly visit upon her. "There is no way to summon him back," she murmured with quiet authority.  
  
"Maybe not," the mist conceded, "but there is an alternative, my queen. Before his defeat and exile, he had brought his son to the Plateau to set him up as heir to the throne that would be created. That son was trapped here after the battle." The mist's otherworldly voice paused allowing the idea to take root before continuing, "If there are remnants of Morrigan's powers in Marguerite, there very well could be heretical traces of The One Who Has No Name lurking within his son."  
  
"It is a possibility," Mab replied, her sharp mind calculating the scenario's probability. "But the question is how? When the planes fractured, he was caught between realities, altered by the backlash of his father's powers. The last time I saw him, he was no longer fully faery."  
  
"Yes, on one plane, he retains his faery form, on another he is an untamed animal with all the instincts of such."   
  
"So, what are you suggesting I do? Hunt him down? Do you even know which plane he is on?"  
  
"If he's trackable, then I'll find him," Roxton murmured from behind them. Having left Marguerite to her dreams, he had intended to grill Mab on her harsh disregard of her charge's training. However, the possibility that he might do more than merely support Marguerite in her efforts brought his adventurous nature to the fore. "I'm considered to be one of the greatest hunters in the world. And I certainly know my way around the Plateau. Who better to send?"   
  
Mab watched him, her gaze considering. The mist, too, it seemed, pondered the   
possibility. "It is not a task to be undertaken lightly, Lord Roxton," the mist warned.  
  
"I'm fully aware of that." John shouldered his rifle and gave a cursory glance to his pistols. "Besides," he murmured after a moment's pause, "I have a vested interest in this situation."   
  
The Faery Queen, reading the stalwart resolve in his stance and gaze, didn't feel it necessary to probe further, and yet she did so anyway. Mentally reaching out to the man before her, Morrigan's new consort, she felt for any reservation, thinking to discover a reason to stay him. What she found startled her.   
  
Not only was he completely devoted to Marguerite, he, himself, possessed a certain spirit within. Though slight and very nearly dormant, it was present nonetheless. What he might view as an inner sense, an aptitude, for hunting and tracking, was in reality a gift. After careful consideration of the man and his potential, the Faery Queen agreed.  
  
"Before I go, I have one condition," Roxton qualified, piercing Mab with a direct stare.  
  
The faery nodded with regal reluctance, certain she knew what he would ask of her. "Go on."  
  
"Leave Marguerite alone until I get back. You, yourself, admitted that she isn't fully adept in your ways, even if she is the reincarnation of this Morrigan."  
  
Mab replied with a shake of her head, "We need all the time available to prepare her again after such a disastrous beginning."  
  
"In that case, I'm doubly resolved. Whatever steps you need to take can wait until I return." He glanced over his shoulder toward the room in which Marguerite still slept and sent a silent, 'I love you,' in her direction then turned an expectant look toward the queen.  
  
The mist swirled around him. "I will guide you to the last known location of the animal. From there, it is up to you to return him here."  
  
"Sounds like a bargain," Roxton answered with a decisive nod. Settling his hat low over his eyes, he asked, "When do we start?"  
  
"Now," replied the mist. Without another word, it slipped out of its human shape and floated up through the water.  
  
"That's all fine and dandy, but how do I get out of here?" asked the hunter as he turned his questioning gaze on Mab.   
  
The queen raised her tiny hands and gestured toward the liquid barrier. It parted suddenly and, without spilling a drop, Roxton was sucked up into the watery depths. Mab watched silently as the water fell back into place then, calling the pixie to her side, she squelched the stab of remorse that shot through her and walked into Marguerite's room.  
  
***  
  
"Are you certain we should do this?" questioned the pixie as she fluttered around the couch.   
  
Mab ignored her servant's doubt and instead shook the small green vial. Dotting   
Marguerite's lips with the liquid, she waited until the woman involuntarily licked them then repeated the process.   
  
"You did promise Lord Roxton, my queen."  
  
"I promised him nothing. Our home is at risk. She is still a key element and even if he does bring the son back to us, we will still need Morrigan's powers at their fullest intensity." The queen nodded decisively dispelling the last of her doubts and continued to dab the liquid on Marguerite's lips.   
  
The pixie maintained her worried vigil without comment as Mab continued the process. Knowing the potency of the potion, she opened her mouth to offer caution as to the amount but was forestalled when the woman began to stir.  
  
"Marguerite," Mab beckoned. "You must wake."  
  
The brunette stirred slightly. Wincing, she opened her eyes and squinted against the pain. Not only had a worrisome lethargy stolen over her, but her brain hurt. "What happened? Did it work? Where's John?"   
  
"Your control slipped," the queen answered succinctly. Masking her disappointment at their failure knowing it would not further matters, she continued, "Lord Roxton has gone to search for someone who will offset your limitations. But, come, you must rise. There is much to do before your consort returns."  
  
...to be continued... 


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: Here's where we take the ultimate flight of fancy (if you'll pardon the pun you'll encounter in a moment). My argument, this is the Plateau. Anything can happen. :-D  
  
  
9/?  
  
  
  
The shrill screech of a pterodactyl pierced the late afternoon air heralding a promise that its companions would soon join it. Roxton ducked reflexively as the dinosaur swooped low overhead, then aimed with the accuracy born of experience and talent and fired. The beast shrieked once more, albeit in pain, and fell to the ground, dead.  
  
"How am I to know when I find this half-faery thing?" Roxton bit out with bitter intent giving the sky a cursory look for other beasties.  
  
"Quite simply because I will tell you," came the arrogant reply.  
  
The hunter smothered the heated retort on his lips knowing that he would never be able to find his prey without the mist. Heaving a sigh, he shouldered the rifle and asked, "So, how far away are we?"  
  
The mist resumed its ethereal lead and answered, "There, between the trees up ahead."  
  
Roxton peered through the dense foliage and cursed. A few yards away, a slight being, somewhat reminiscent of a deer, grazed peacefully. It was only when the beast raised its head and pierced Roxton with its feral yellow gaze did the man realize that, while the body was one animal, its head was something quite different. A shaggy yellow mane flowed from the narrow face vaguely recalling a lioness' hostile features. "What the hell is that thing supposed to be?"  
  
Without comment, the mist dissipated leaving Roxton to follow the beast. "No, dammit! You aren't getting away that easily," he yelled, swiping his Webleys from their holsters. Without second thought, he aimed and fired, the bullets nicking the animal's shoulder rather than felling it. The air in front of the beast shimmered slightly.   
  
Roxton slowed his pursuit as the beast neared it. "What the hell is going on?"  
  
"It's going to jump planes --"  
  
"You mean that thing is going to all of a sudden disappear?" The hunter annoyed by yet another irritating feature of the blasted plateau shot a dark look toward the mist.  
  
"In a sense. It will change from the beast form you see now into a faery."  
  
"Then how in the hell am I supposed to track it?"   
  
"You don't. You become it."  
  
Before Roxton could utter another word, the mist enveloped him. An eerie tune gripped the air around him, reminiscent of the one he had heard when Marguerite stood surrounded by the mist. Again, the soft cacophony of voices lilted in his ears. This time, however, instead of Gaelic, they spoke English.  
  
"Why do you think you were visited?" Recognizing the hunter's confusion, the mist elaborated, "The faery you met as a child. You were being watched at a very young age. Your family's close proximity to the faery rings must have given you some idea."  
  
Roxton shook his head, still unable to fathom what the mist meant.  
  
"Your innate talents and skills, things you've accepted as luck, are in truth remnants of your former powers. Your interlude with the pixie was not an accident. She was sent to test you. To determine if you would harness your skills or simply dismiss them. We have all been pleased with your decision."  
  
"Are you saying that I'm some sort of a reincarnated faery?"   
  
The mist chuckled at the man's obvious disbelief. "Closer to the cheiftans that ruled millennia ago. Theirs were the powers of nature, conquering and claiming for themselves and their clans."  
  
"If that's true, why didn't Mab say anything?"  
  
"Because she doesn't know. She merely suspects. You were a surprise to her." The mist paused, silently pondering the wisdom of revealing more, then, decided that the hunter already intuitively knew the facts and that further revelation would only strengthen the potentials that lurked within him.  
  
"Your journey to this place, Lord Roxton, was not merely to hunt dinosaurs. You knew this from the start. That feeling, that quest for the ultimate adventure, rather than the possibility of trophies, was what drew you here."  
  
"Don't you mean Marguerite? She's the one with the supernatural powers, remember?"  
  
"Ah, yes, Marguerite. You are correct. She does possess the skills of Morrigan; even in a limited basis, they are still quite powerful. You are a different sort, with no less potential. But you are more grounded, more in tune with the earth while she belongs to the mystics.  
  
"However to you, Marguerite is more. You knew even in the beginning that something existed between the two of you, a deeper connection than one based on mere attraction. You've realized it time and again during your years here. Yet you haven't fully acted upon it. You continue to dance intricate patterns around each other. I'll give you this advice: while whatever doubts you may have will remain, there is no more time left to wait."   
  
Roxton absorbed the words with a calm solemnity. He had known for months now, had felt his natural patience being pricked by some outside force, encouraging him to further their relationship. It was a relief to find the feeling wasn't a figment of his imagination. Unfortunately, now was not the moment to ponder his need for Marguerite. As always a man of action, he nodded once and asked, "What do I do now?"  
  
"You must first complete the task before you: cross the threshold and return the son to Mab. After that is ended, then you can turn your energies toward the Chosen One."  
  
Roxton squared his shoulders and revolved slowly in the mist, allowing it to weave in and around him, capturing, transforming him so that he could pass to the next plane. To help Marguerite fulfill her destiny, to perchance fulfill their own.   
  
A timeless moment later, a sharp prick tingled down his spine, sending slight shivers across his skin. He started suddenly, having realized that his clothes had disappeared and that he now stood completely naked within the mist. Despite the suddenness of the revelation, he wasn't given any opportunity for his natural modesty to overcome him.   
  
Instead, the prickling sensation intensified, as if a hoard of porcupines was tunneling out of his body. He muffled a pain-filled shriek while the mist continued to ebb and float around him. In an instant, he felt lighter, more open. Roxton opened his eyes and looked down toward his feet certain he was floating to discover that he not only was floating, but that his body had become translucent.  
  
Raising his hands, he watched, fascinated, as the silvery purple and blue hues, iridescent in color and texture, played over his skin. The mist slowly retreated once again returning to the orb that had led him.   
  
"Now, Lord Roxton, you are ready."  
  
"How long will I stay like this? Is this temporary or --" he cut the words off, unable to voice the potential.  
  
At the desperate undertone in his words, the mist soothed, "It is temporary and will fade after you return to this plane. I must stay, but will meet you here when you have captured the son."  
  
Roxton took in a deep fortifying breath then leapt through the planel boundary. The air shimmered around him, tingling for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he was stunned by his surroundings.   
  
Gone were the tell-tale signs of the jungle, the trees, the animals. In their places stood towering crystal formations that pricked the rosy sky and gleamed with frigid invitation. Even the sounds were different. Haunting whines of the wind as it gusted over the barren landscape overwhelmed the calls of any potential animals.  
  
Quickly deciding that he preferred his natural plane, dinosaurs and all, to this desolation, Roxton squared his shoulders and moved forward. Or rather, to his surprise, he floated forward. Adjusting to the new sensation, the hunter found that he was able to mimic the art of flying. He laughed with delight as the ground rapidly fled from beneath him and he soared up to the tops of the crystals.   
  
Focusing his attentions on the true reason for his presence, Roxton scanned the area intent on tracking the faery and bringing him shortly to heel. A light flickered in the corner of his eye, glittering just out of his vision. Realizing that they were alone, he was certain he had picked up the scent of his prey.   
  
"There may not be any jungle here, but its laws still prevail, my friend," he muttered as he turned slightly and directed himself toward the movement. Reaching absently for his ever-present pistols, Roxton stifled a curse when his hands grasped air rather than their pearl-handled grips. What had the mist said? he wondered, eyes locked on his target. You must become him.  
  
"So how the hell does a faery fight?" he asked with grim forbearance.  
  
He had his answer soon enough.  
  
The light that had just been a glimmer a second previous swooped over him knocking him to the ground. Roxton caught and righted himself before careening into the sandy red soil. "Oh, so you want to play dirty, huh?"   
  
The hunter soared back up and quickly made chase but, being new to this sort of   
maneuvering had him at a distinct disadvantage. Just as he was about to reach is target, the faery somersaulted and shifted beneath him. Roxton glanced down in time to see his opponent opening his hands and aiming them directly at him.   
  
Instinctively knowing that whatever the faery intended would not behoove him, Roxton twisted his body seconds before a bright blast rocketed past him. He unfortunately wasn't quick enough to escape complete injury as the sharp pain in his side attested. Roxton pressed his hand to the injury to stave off the inevitable blood, but when he lifted it away, he discovered there was no blood to be found. "Hmm...maybe faeries do have it good, after all."  
  
Ignoring the lingering pain, Roxton floated after his prey intent on returning the favor. He caught up with him a moment later and was forced to duck behind one of the crystal formations to avoid yet another encounter with the faery's weapon. Seeing a closely formed group of the crystals ahead of him, an idea filtered through his brain. "It just might work," he murmured before swooping out from behind his cover and back into the fray.  
  
The faery, certain of his impending victory, followed, just as Roxton had hoped he would. Ducking behind one of the largest spires, he led the son through the myriad twists of the formations. His target, confused for the moment as to his opponent's whereabouts, paused. Roxton took the advantage and rammed him from behind, bashing the faery's skull into the crystal and catching him before he fell to the ground.  
  
"See? I told you. Law of the jungle," the hunter remarked with wry humor.  
  
***  
  
"Well done, Lord Roxton," Mab congratulated. "I must admit that I had my doubts over your success. But it seems you had the right motivating factors in your favor." She shot a meaningful glance toward her pupil.  
  
Marguerite, relieved he had returned unharmed, shrugged off the lingering exhaustion that had gripped her and clasped his hand in hers. "Marguerite," he started, the wonder beginning to ease from his eyes. "You won't believe -- I hardly believe it myself."  
  
She placed her free hand over his lips and shushed him. "Later. Tell me about later." With a soft knowing smile, she trailed her fingertips across his cheek before turning back to the chieftan's son.  
  
The once half deer, half-lion beast, here, in Mab's realm, had transformed back into his faery form and now stood away from the group, defiance pouring from him. The queen's assessing stare raked over him with distaste. "Do you know why you have been brought here?"  
  
The son chuckled with dark mirth. "I suppose to save the world."  
  
"Not you alone. You are not your father. Only he would be able to accomplish such a task," she scolded thinking to dampen his rampant hostility. Though after contemplating the half-life existence he had experienced since his father's downfall, she couldn't blame him his feelings. "No, you are not your father, but you are your father's son. Heredity is strong and in your powers are remnants of The One Who Has No Name."  
  
"Don't call him that!" the son screamed. The harsh sound was a sickening combination of the beast's roar and the faery's shrill. "You are too afraid to call him by name! Too weak to counter the repercussions that would ensue. You are nothing but a fake, Mab."  
  
"If you do not help us, this Plateau will be destroyed."  
  
"What do I care? The life that I have led here is not what any would wish upon his worst enemy. Except perhaps you."  
  
"Like it or not, this has become your home. You can't exist outside of it."  
  
The son appeared to consider the queen's words, balancing them against his own truths and emotions. The raw void that had filled him ever since he watched his father slip from his grasp and into the dark plane ached. Despite his hellish existence, he would rather be alive to experience it rather than dissipated across the planes.   
  
His eyes narrowed as he pondered the potential outcomes. While none was very pleasant, he wondered if there was a way to tip the scales in the better direction. Chosen One, he thought consideringly, isn't that what she called the woman?  
  
If it was true...  
  
A feral grin slipped over his features as his malevolent gaze slid to the Chosen One. "In exchange for my assistance, I require a boon."  
  
Mab eased out the breath she had been holding. With forced calm, she answered, "Name your terms."  
  
The son drifted toward Marguerite, the gleam in his eyes sharpening. "It has been ages since I was last human."   
  
Roxton stiffened with expectation while the faery floated around Marguerite as if he were carefully examining a piece of merchandise.  
  
"If I help you, success or failure, I want the Chosen One's body."  
  
"That is NOT an option!" the hunter shouted hauling Marguerite away from the faery, shielding her from his gaze.  
  
A cold smile flickered about his lips. Raising an eyebrow he turned from Roxton to Mab and answered, "Then I fear we are at an impasse. And the Plateau and all who inhabit it will suffer for your decision." 


	10. Chapter 10

10/?  
  
A pause, pregnant with the potent mixture of hostility and desperation, met the faery's words. With unflinching resolve etched into his features, the hunter stood squarely beside Marguerite, who flashed an aggravated glare. "John," she muttered.  
  
Roxton's head jerked toward her. "No, Marguerite. I won't give in on this. The Plateau is not worth your life."  
  
"What about Challenger's? Or Veronica's or Ned's? Haven't you at one time or another risked your life to save theirs?"  
  
"'Risked,' Marguerite. There's a helluva lot of difference between risk and a bloody foregone conclusion."  
  
Mab fluttered edgily, knowing that her options were rapidly slipping between her tiny hands. "Will you not reconsider?" she asked the chieftan's son.   
  
A sardonic eyebrow cocked in her direction was his only answer. He held the power; he knew it and was willing, even eager, to force his father's executioner to pay dearly for what she wanted. If she didn't force Marguerite into his hands, he would still win for the Plateau would be destroyed and his miserable existence would come to an end.   
  
Marguerite stepped away from Roxton and countered, "There's no need for reconsideration. I've made the decision."  
  
"Marguerite, no!" Roxton yelled, gripping her arm firmly.  
  
Shaking off his hand, she replied, "It's my choice. I choose the Plateau, regardless of the consequences."  
  
The hunter trained his pain-filled eyes on her and shook his head, the action a combination of disbelief and regret. The pride he felt for her selfless action was overwhelmed by the sense of impending loss. He had long ago believed that he had lost everything of importance to him. But that had been before Marguerite. She had resuscitated him, had resurrected the old John Roxton from his self-imposed damnation. He was strong again. Invincible. All because of her. But as strong as he was, there was one thing he knew he was unable to do. "I can't watch you knowingly destroy yourself."  
  
Marguerite nodded, accepting that once again, no matter how much they had so faithfully promised each other, she was alone. Some part of her knew that this moment would come, but that knowledge didn't lessen the blow. Squeezing his arm in an effort to reassure him and offering a tight smile, she murmured, "Make sure Challenger and Malone get back to London safely."   
  
Roxton agreed with a slight lift of his lips. Hating himself for his weakness, he turned away. She watched him go and felt her soul tear in half. A moment before he quit the room, he glanced back over his shoulder, allowing himself one last glimpse of the woman he loved, the woman he would never marry, would never see again. Her gaze sought out his, her eyes speaking the words that her lips could not. When she saw her love reflecting from his eyes, she pressed a kiss to her fingertips and raised her hand, a last good-bye. She turned back to the chieftan's son and nodded. "Let's get started. Mab?"  
  
The queen glanced from Marguerite to Roxton as he turned away and walked out of the throne room then fluttered toward her pupil. "If this is your wish, then I am grateful." Taking their hands in hers, Mab indicated they should do the same. "Now, close your eyes, and as before, clear your mind. Picture the Plateau and nothing else."  
  
The air around them, heavy with the possibility of profound success, stilled. Mab gently slipped into Marguerite's mind, the ability, after so many hours in training, now second nature. She then reached into the son's thoughts, but instead of finding a calm, centered arena, a fearsome storm of emotion buffeted against her. Hate and loathing were the predominant feelings that far out-paced the remaining one of fear. Doubtless, his reactions were justified, but at the same time...  
  
"Your mind must be clear of all but the Plateau. Emotions are secondary, only the facts are needed at this time. Your beliefs and attitudes cloud your thoughts and will destroy us all. You must focus."  
  
The cheiftan's son, knowing he risked his future if he did not comply, stifled a resigned sigh and banished his normal reactions to any thought of the Plateau to the nether regions of his mind. It was, under the circumstances, the best he could do. When Mab was satisfied with his efforts she reentered his mind. "Remember, think only of the truths. Any deviations will have disastrous consequences for us all."  
  
The mist swirled through the room, slowly engulfing the trio. Marguerite realized that the puzzle was now complete; she could feel it in the distinct pull of good versus evil and also felt the Plateau responding.   
  
"Good!" Mab praised, her dainty wings fluttering at a rapid pace. "Now, see the Plateau as it is today. As it was when you each first arrived. Focus on the image, keep the storms at bay, in the distance, they are no threat in this world."  
  
Marguerite smiled as she watched the tree house edge from the outskirts of her vision to the forefront and wondered what Challenger, Ned, and Veronica were up to. Had Ned even returned from his journey? Suddenly, an ache engulfed her. As she watched them go about their lives, she realized how much she wanted to be with them. To return to her family. And knowing she couldn't nearly ripped her apart.   
  
Squaring her shoulders, she squashed the feelings and reminded herself that what she accomplished here today, no matter what happened to her, would save them. It was a small price to pay to protect the only family she had ever known.   
  
Mab had witnessed Marguerite's momentary lapse and was ready to intervene should the need occur. Once again, she was proud of her charge's abilities to focus on the matter at hand. Not so with the chieftan's son. She delved further into his mind and discovered the struggle to master his emotions had not been one he had won. The red-orange haze of rage tinged with the purplish-blue of despair clouded his mental image of the Plateau.   
  
She tried to intercede, slipping through the emotions, interjecting her own calm, but to no avail. The battle waged on and, in the last seconds when she was certain he would be victorious, the haze engulfed him completely, overwhelming his control. Marguerite cried out in shock as her link with him severed. One leg of the triangle was wrenched away. The Chosen One opened her eyes, knowing that to do so would risk a break in her concentration. Her mouth dropped open in shock.   
  
In the place where he had stood now remained a blackened heap of ashes. Pain shot through her as she lost her grip completely on the image she had constructed. She stumbled back intent on moving as far away from the son's remains as possible when she collided with a solid, warm figure.  
  
"Shh, Morrigan. Cuchlain is returned," whispered a voice she knew.  
  
Mab opened her eyes at the sound, and then widened them in surprise. "So, its true," she murmured in awe, "he has returned for her."  
  
The mist, had it been able, would have smiled, for it had known the truth from the start.  
  
"I refused you once, my love," Roxton soothed as he placed his hands on Marguerite's shoulders. "It is not in my ability to do so again."   
  
It was then that something even more spectacular than the events around them occurred. Marguerite's body turned, her eyes glowing with the green fire of her people's emeralds, and smiled. "My love," she greeted. "Even after our final parting, I always knew we would see each other again. How fitting it should be now." She drew her knuckles down the hard plane of his cheek, a caress of welcome, of remembrance, and of love.  
  
"You must take his place," beckoned the mist. "His presence allowed us to break past the barriers his father erected, but we still are in need of grounding. You will provide that."  
  
Roxton/Cuchlain nodded and joined the circle. Power rushed between them cementing the windows into place then blocking them entirely. One by one, they were closed for evermore. As the molten energy abated and slowly dispersed, Morrigan and Cuchlain disappeared with them and Marguerite and Roxton were returned to their senses.   
  
"Marguerite?" Roxton gasped in wonder as he pulled her into his arms. "How the hell are you still here?"  
  
She shook her head, trying to realign her dazed thoughts. "I don't know. The last thing I remember was seeing the chieftan's son after he had been burned up. After that, everything is blank."  
  
"We seem to have had a little help," Mab interjected with pleased relief.   
  
Roxton stared blankly at her. "What do you mean?"  
  
"She means," the mist answered as it coalesced back into human shape, "that your other selves took over and saved the Plateau."  
  
"You knew!" the fairy queen accused, her irritation at being left out of the loop evident.   
  
The mist chuckled and settled itself on a nearby stool. "I knew all along."  
  
"Well, pardon my curiosity," Marguerite retorted with asperity as she withdrew from Roxton's embrace, "but would someone like to tell us just what you knew?"  
  
The mist inclined its head and began, "You have known for some time of your Chosen One status, Marguerite. However, Roxton has never had the opportunity to become acquainted with his own history. Your souls were mated millennia ago, you as Morrigan to Roxton as Cuchlian, a great Celtic chieftan and warrior. But circumstance and pride kept you apart, allowed you only friendship after several years of mutual hatred. Your assumption of Morrigan and her subsequent efforts to save the Plateau called him forth, encouraged him to finally put to right the error that was made."  
  
Brow furrowed, Roxton looked at the mist figure with incredulity. "So, I'm supposed to be the reincarnated soul of this chieftan? I don't believe it."  
  
"Believe it or not, the truth remains the same, although your powers engendered from the reincarnation have now disappeared."  
  
The lord nodded, taking small comfort in the fact that he had somehow returned to normal.  
  
Mab, having listened to the tale in silent regard, now joined the couple. "My dear, you truly belong with us. Your powers will only grow stronger if you remain and allow us to nurture them."  
  
Marguerite heard the promise behind the words, but knew a question remained. "What will happen if I leave?"   
  
"You will retain your memories of this place and your linguistic skills, however any other powers that you cultivated while here will remain here. Additionally, I must warn you, that you are in grave danger if you remain unprotected. The son may be gone, but there are many other hazards on the Plateau."  
  
Marguerite glanced over her shoulder to Roxton who tried to mask his disappointment behind an unsuccessful grin encouraging her to stay. Wrinkling her nose, she whispered, "I think I have someone to discuss this with."  
  
She took his elbow and steered him toward the far corner of the throne room.   
"Marguerite," he began, his confusion obvious, "what needs to be discussed? You should stay here. The future is spread before you. Take it."  
  
She was surprised by the surety in his voice. Marguerite turned and looked at Mab and her faery courtiers which had unknowingly joined them, then returned her gaze to the rugged hunter. With a smile of loving assurance, she replied, "You're right, John. The future is in front of me. And I will take it, with both hands." So saying she reached down and linked their hands together twining their fingers. An endearing mixture of confusion and dawning awareness drifted over his face as she turned back to Mab.  
  
"Thank you for the offer, but I believe I belong with someone else." She lifted her lips in a self-deprecating smile. "But I think you must have realized that from the beginning."  
  
"Well, I can't say that your decision is a surprise. Morrigan, herself, would do the same." The queen glanced up and with a soft, secretive smile, added, "And I believe she has."  
  
"What will happen now? Will I ever return?"  
  
Though the question had been directed toward Mab, the mist answered, "That is for fate to decide. But do know this: though you have decided against furthering your abilities, you will always remain a Chosen One. And one day, you will be called again into service."  
  
The queen fluttered toward her and placed a tiny hand on her shoulder. "For now, enjoy the destiny you have chosen."  
  
Taking Roxton's hand once more, she turned and walked toward the wall of water, the only exit and entrance that she knew. Mab raised her hands, but stilled them as a thought occurred to her. "Oh, and one more thing. I'd better get an invitation to the wedding."  
  
The water opened up and they disappeared before either could answer the directive. In the stillness, the queen sat silent in her throne, the courtiers once more surrounding her and seeing to any need. The mist, quiet as well, waited for the question it knew would be quick in coming.   
  
It didn't have to wait long.  
  
"Do you think she chose wisely?"  
  
The mist inclined its head. "She followed her heart and that is all any mere mortal, Chosen One or no, can do."  
  
***  
  
finis  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Cuchlain was a Celtic chieftan and contemporary of Morrigan. It is said that she once offered him her love, but he spurned her. They maintained a love-hate relationship for several years until she tricked him into healing fatal wounds she had obtained in a battle. After that, they were close friends.   
  
I hope you enjoyed my little trip into Marguerite's Chosen One status and that, if not believable, it was at least entertaining.  
  
Further note: I want to thank everyone who has ever reviewed my fanfics. You are tremendously appreciated and do offer encouragement for current and future stories. For now, though, circumstance and inspiration are forcing me to take a break from writing for "The Lost World." As for "Revelations," I would be honored if you would let me know if the ending (late in coming, I know) was worth the effort. 


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